In the heart of the High Arctic, under a dome of soft grey skies and amidst the ghostly hush of falling snow, our April 2025 Svalbard winter expedition aboard the venerable M.S. Freya delivered one of the most unforgettable polar experiences in recent memory. This journey, which spanned over 1,000 nautical miles through the ice-choked fjords and remote coastlines of the Svalbard archipelago, offered a profound immersion into the raw, elemental beauty of the Arctic. Our vessel carved its way through frozen seascapes, bringing us deep into the polar wilderness, far beyond the reach of most travelers.

The expedition was marked by a gentle yet relentless Arctic quiet, broken only by the distant cracking of sea ice and the occasional calls of returning seabirds drifting on the wind. For those of us who return to Svalbard year after year, this trip stood out not for its dramatic apex predator encounters—though three polar bears were spotted at a distance—but for its rare and deeply moving walrus experiences, the likes of which we have not witnessed in over a decade.

Svalbard’s walrus populations have steadily rebounded in recent years, thanks to concerted conservation efforts. Yet it is still unusual to find them during the winter months when sea ice is more dominant and access to haul-out sites more difficult. This year, however, was different.

On multiple occasions, we were graced with close, extended encounters with walrus resting along snow-covered ice floes. What made these interactions truly magical was the weather: soft, steady snowfall that blanketed the entire scene in a delicate hush, muting the world and rendering the encounters almost surreal. These conditions, rarely aligned, offered dreamlike opportunities for photography. The walrus, with their richly textured hides dusted with snow, lay peacefully as we watched from our ship, their breath curling visibly in the frigid air.

Photographically, these moments were gold—low-contrast palettes of greys and blues, punctuated by the soft white of snow, created minimalist compositions that spoke of the essence of the Arctic in winter. No dramatic light was needed; the mood and texture carried everything. Many in our group expressed that these were the finest walrus encounters they had ever experienced. I would have to agree.

This expedition was never about chasing wildlife in numbers, but about immersing ourselves in whatever the Arctic chose to reveal. And although polar bear sightings were sparse—just three individuals were seen, all at significant distance—each encounter served as a poignant reminder of their quiet dominion over this landscape. Their tracks, however, told other stories. We crossed few fresh trails along beaches and sea ice, including one particularly striking set that meandered along snow-covered ice at sunrise, untouched and perfect in the soft light.

The polar bear is the undisputed icon of the Arctic, and while some may measure success by proximity or frequency, I have always believed that the real gift is simply to be in their world, to tread respectfully and recognize their sovereignty over these wild lands. With the increasing intrusion of tourism, industry and science into Arctic ecosystems, such moments—even distant—hold immense value.

It is, however, impossible to discuss this year’s polar bear encounters without acknowledging a deeply troubling incident that occurred during our expedition. A widely condemned event involving a helicopter harassing a polar bear in the Svalbard region sent shockwaves through the wildlife and conservation communities. Images of the helicopter hovering aggressively over the bear, clearly disturbing its natural behavior, was both heartbreaking and enraging.

Such actions are antithetical to everything we stand for in responsible Arctic travel. They highlight the urgent need for stronger regulations around scientific research and more rigorous enforcement to protect vulnerable species from thoughtless human intrusion. As stewards and storytellers of this environment, we must be loud in our opposition to such behavior and unwavering in our commitment to ethical field practices. The Arctic gives generously to those who approach with humility; it turns cold and silent to those who do not. A full accounting of this encounter has been documented HERE. It has also been sent to the Governor of Svalbard, and news agencies around the world. It has been published by the NRK in Norway and the Svalbard Posten. To date, the only response from the Governors office has been a short statement that “they are looking into the incident.”

What this expedition lacked in high-density wildlife sightings, it more than made up for in landscape photography. Svalbard’s mountains, encased in thick coats of snow and ice, appeared every bit the guardians of the north—stoic, jagged, and infinitely photogenic. Every fjord we entered revealed new variations of winter’s mastery: towering cliffs draped in icicles, frozen waterfalls cascading in silent defiance of gravity, and icebergs locked in sea ice like sculptures waiting to be discovered.

At times, the weather closed in, surrounding us in a soft monochrome mist that stripped the landscape to its essential forms. At others, the skies opened just enough to allow ribbons of pastel light to skim across the snowfields. These fleeting moments of light—never dramatic, but always subtle—offered those patient and attuned enough the chance to make quiet, powerful images.

Each evening, as we gathered in the warm dining room of the Freya, trading stories and reviewing the day’s experiences, there was a shared sense of reverence for the landscape we were privileged to explore. We had come seeking solitude, wildness, and truth—and the Arctic had provided, in its own sparse, magnificent way.

This expedition reminded me, as it does each year, that Svalbard in winter is a place of paradox: stark yet tender, harsh yet comforting, desolate yet full of life. It is a place where patience is rewarded, where minimalism sings, and where every track in the snow tells a story worth listening to.

As we completed our 1,000 nautical mile journey and began the long voyage back to Longyearbyen, I was struck once again by the importance of returning—not just physically, but mentally and spiritually—to places like this. Places where the wild still rules, and where we are reminded, as always, that the greatest gift of the Arctic is its silence—and how it teaches us to listen.

We will return again next year 2026 to lead another winter expedition aboard M.S Freya in search of miraculous wildlife encounters and ice covered landscapes. This is a rare opportunity to explore one of the Arctic’s most remote and pristine landscapes at the height of its frozen majesty. Designed specifically for keen nature and wildlife photographers, this small-group expedition offers intimate access to Svalbard’s breathtaking winter wilderness, including encounters with walrus, Arctic foxes, and polar bears, all set against a backdrop of towering snow-covered mountains and sculpted sea ice. With 24-hour twilight and the potential for moody, ethereal light, this is a once-a-year chance to capture the Arctic in its most cinematic and atmospheric state. Guided by Wild Nature Photo Travels extensive field experience and deep knowledge of polar conditions, this trip is not just a photographic expedition—it’s an immersion into the raw soul of the Arctic. Spots are extremely limited. Adventure with purpose—photograph with intention.

Today, I just wanted to share some wonderful positive feedback I received from our just completed April, 2025 Wild Nature Photo Travel expedition to Svalbard (Trip Report coming in the next few days). Shared experiences like this are the reason I started this company and continue to be the driving force for taking photographers into some of the wildest and most remote locations on our planet. Thank you to Andy and Jennifer for taking the time to write such wonderful feedback.

“Dear Fellow Pilgrims on the Svalbard Sojourn, And so it goes, as one might mutter in a post-epic journey haze, that we find ourselves penning this note, our hearts still adrift in the icy dazzle of April’s photographic odyssey to Svalbard—a place so starkly, absurdly beautiful it could make a grown man weep or a cynic reconsider their trade. We’re trying, in our fumbling, human way, to stitch together a thank-you that does justice to the kaleidoscopic wonder of what we all shared. Spoiler: words are flimsy things, like paper boats on an Arctic swell, but we’ll give it a go.

First, a nod to Joshua and Susy, our intrepid guides, who didn’t just lead us through the frostbitten wilds but opened their journey to us, letting us piggyback on their passion like hitchhikers on some cosmic road trip. You didn’t just show us walruses lolling on ice floes or the ice bear’s ghostly shimmy; you gifted us a lens—literal and otherwise—through which to see our fragile world anew. And to every soul on this expedition, from the gear-hauling, tripod-toting shutterbugs to the quiet ones who whispered awe at the edge of a glacier: you made this thing hum. You were, to borrow from that old B.W. Stevenson tune, the embodiment of “Everyone is helpful, everyone is kind / On the road to Shambala.” Svalbard, with its endless snow and light that bends time, felt like a glimpse of that place. Each click of our shutters, each shared fika of coffee in the bone-chilling cold, was a step on that road. We weren’t just chasing images; we were chasing renewal, love, the kind of adventurous spirit that makes you feel, for a fleeting moment, like you’ve cracked the code to being alive. And you all—every one of you—were kind, were helpful, were the sort of companions who make a journey feel like a destination in disguise. Our gratitude is a clumsy, oversized thing, too big for this page, but it’s real. We wish you all safe travels, continued success, and more journeys that feel like Shambala’s just around the bend. Keep chasing the light, literal and otherwise. – Andy & Jennifer”